


Truth, Twenty-Four Times Per Second

by Geonn



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-28
Updated: 2010-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:30:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen is taken to the cinema and discovers a new love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth, Twenty-Four Times Per Second

_February, 1921 -_  
Helen had no interest in popular culture. She didn't understand the draw of the masses to a darkened room to watch flickering images cast upon a sheet. She preferred live theatre, where the audience was a part of the story and could feel the emotions of the actors. To have it preserved on film and processed through a machine seemed cold and lifeless to her. And it wasn't as if she had the time to enjoy the cinema, to be honest. The Great War was more than enough of a distraction, and it had taken years for the dust to settle so she could return to normal operating procedures.

She was relaxing in the UK Sanctuary, luxuriating in the bliss of taking off her shoes and letting her poor feet rest, when James found her. He paused in the doorway of the library, pausing to study her heavy eyelids and exhausted posture before he stepped into the room. "Sorry to disturb you. I had a question, but I believe I may already have my answer."

Helen smiled at him. "You may ask, but I can almost assure you the answer will be no."

James smiled and sat on the ottoman beside her feet. "There's a film showing--"

"No," Helen said. "The only darkened room I wish to visit this evening is one where I can sleep. Sorry, James. Maybe another time."

"Very well. I would be remiss if I neglected to treat my beautiful guest to a night on the town." He stood and bent down to kiss Helen's cheek. "Sleep well, Helen."

"Thank you, James," she said. She looked into the fire after he left, guilt eating away at her. Finally, she sighed and stood up, hurrying from the room in her stocking feet. James was nearly to the stairs when she caught up to him. "James, wait." He turned to face her and she hesitated. "It's not a Sherlock Holmes film, is it?"

James' smile widened. "Heaven forbid. What kind of narcissist do you take me for?"

"Do I have time to change into something more appropriate?"

#

The theatre was crowded, but not to the point where it became unbearable. Helen's hair was gathered beneath a fashionable cloche hat. James wore a suit jacket and gloves, and escorted her into the theater. They found seats with what James considered to be a perfect view of the screen and waited for the rest of the audience to trickle in. When the lights finally dimmed and the screen lit as if by magic, Helen fought the urge to let her eyelids droop. The orchestra began playing and the title screen appeared.

  
**CHARLIE CHAPLIN  
in  
THE KID**   


The credits rolled and an interstitial said, "A picture with a smile - and perhaps, a tear." She settled against the seat - it really was quite comfortable, and the theater was pleasantly warm - and pressed her arm against James' to remind herself to stay awake.

As the film progressed, Helen found herself fascinated by the Chaplin character. He was a tramp, a vagabond, but his heart was so pure. He truly loved the child he'd been forced to take care of. The character could have been a pathetic joke, but her heart went out to him. When the boy was taken from Chaplin and thrown, weeping, into the back of a truck that would take him to the orphans' home, Helen was in tears.

And when Chaplin escaped the authorities and leapt to the rooftop to chase the boy down, jumping into the truck for a tearful reunion, it was all Helen could do to stop herself from applauding like mad.

Helen and James were the last people out of the theater, all but rushed to the door by the ushers who needed to sweep between the aisles. They stepped out into the cold, February air and James tightened the collar of his jacket against the breeze. He looked at Helen, having long ago learned to never offer his coat to her no matter the temperature. "Thank you for your indulgence, Helen. I find these 'flickers' far more enjoyable in the company of a friend."

"Damn you, James," Helen said, mocking a blow to his arm. "You've corrupted me again."

James lifted his chin and laughed as they walked toward their waiting car. "Does that mean you enjoyed it?"

"Perhaps," Helen said. She looked longingly over her shoulder at the theater. "When would we be able to see it again?"

James put his hand on her arm and rubbed it. "Tomorrow evening?"

Helen feigned irritation. "I suppose, if we _must_ wait that long."

James laughed as he climbed into the car behind Helen. "Oh, dear. I fear I've created a monster."

 _1941 -_  
Helen became obsessed with Chaplin's films. She watched _City Lights_ and _Modern Times_ at least a half dozen times each. She never shirked her responsibility to the Sanctuary for anything, but her reading did suffer from the countless nights spent in front of a flickering lamp instead of curled up with a book. She arranged to have a screening room installed in the Sanctuary and spent exorbitant amounts on prints of Chaplin's movies. The first film she owned a copy of was _The Tramp_.

Twenty years after she was introduced to Chaplin, however, had resulted in a bolder note in his films. _The Great Dictator_ was actually banned in several European countries. Fortunately someone in London was willing to risk angering the Fuhrer and agreed to premiere the film. Helen used her connections in the theatre industry to purchase the first ticket. James gratefully agreed to escort her to the premiere and, for the first time, Helen put off a mission for the Sanctuary so she could attend. The kelaick could wait; Chaplin could not.

While waiting for the film to begin, Helen went in search of something to drink. The theater lobby was packed with the crème de la crème in all their finery, and Helen made a game of identifying those she knew to be Abnormals. A few of them toasted her, a minority turned their faces from her as she passed. She took pride in being something of a minor celebrity, in the right circles, and took a glass of wine for her and James.

She turned and nearly collided with someone a few inches shorter than her. He was dressed in a white tuxedo, his curly black hair swept away from his forehead into a rooster's comb. There was a shock of white in it, and the man's eyes widened comically as he took in Helen's outfit. "Well!" he said sharply, pressing his lips together in a mimicry of staunch distaste. "Had I known the sort of clumsy oafs would be attending this premiere, perhaps I would have just spared the trouble!"

His accent was subdued, but she could still hear a hint of Cockney hiding under his words. "It's all right; I'm sure the movie is hardly worth the effort. Utter garbage from what I've heard, anyway."

The man's right eyebrow arched up. "It's worse than I thought. Oafs with no sense of taste."

Helen laughed and did a curtsey as best she could while holding two glasses of wine. "It's my absolute pleasure, Mr. Chaplin."

Chaplin took one of her glasses, took her fingers in his, and bowed dramatically to press a kiss to the back of her glove. "And had I honestly known the sort of women my films would draw, I would have started making them years earlier. I would have been editing in the womb."

"I'm not quite sure the technology existed then."

"Details. Trifles. When a beautiful woman is at stake, mankind finds a way. Miss...?"

"Dr. Helen Magnus."

Chaplin rolled his eyes and his shoulders sagged. "A _doctor_. You must stand apart from me, for you are far too beautiful and impressive. I'll look like a common street urchin next to you." He frowned, turned at the waist to look at the movie poster and then said, "Ah. Right."

Helen laughed and said, "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Chaplin."

"Charles, or I shall storm off this instant. A fan, then?" Helen inclined her chin. "I hope the movie doesn't disappoint. For all the claptrap made about it, it can only disappoint."

"I think it's brave. Hitler is a beast and a menace. The Americans believe they can simply ignore him and he'll go away. The rest of the world wants to believe the same thing. They'd much rather take a stand against an actor than a powerful military leader. If I hadn't already been a fan of yours, I would have become one because of this picture."

"And you say that without having seen a single moment of the movie."

"Sometimes intent is more important than content," Helen said.

Chaplin pondered that and then nodded. "So you've been a fan of mine for a while, I suppose?"

"Since _The Kid_. I'd shunned movies until that point, but that film changed everything for me."

"Nineteen hundred and twenty-one," Chaplin said. "So you saw it from a crib, I suppose? Pushed into the theater in a pram?"

Helen laughed. "I'm far older than I look, Mr. Chaplin, and far too old for you from what I've been told."

Chaplin curled his lips into a smile.

"There are far too many horrendous things going on in this world. Hatred and killing and tyranny. Before I thought movies were simply childish diversions, but this film... I think this film could actually speak to the world." She considered that. "Is it a silent film?"

"No," Chaplin said. He seemed contemplative, serious for the first time since they began talking. "There's a speech."

"Then I'll be sure to listen."

He bowed slightly and looked past her. "I believe your companion has become jealous and, taking note of his height, I shall bid you adieu, my dear Doctor." He handed back the half-drunk champagne and straightened his posture. "It was a pleasure, Helen."

"The pleasure was mine, Charles."

He stepped back, clicked his heels together, and bowed enthusiastically. When he straightened, he whipped the tail of his tuxedo coat with one hand and dashed off into the crowd. Helen was laughing when James found her, taking the glass Chaplin had held from her. "Was that...?"

"The Tramp himself," Helen said.

James looked into the crowd, trying to spot the fleeing actor. "I've always wondered if he was... you know. An Abbie. Those pratfalls, that innate sense of what will make an audience laugh or cry. Certainly could be an Abnormal ability."

"No," Helen said with certainty. "We've been doing this for so long, _I've_ been doing this for so long, that sometimes it's easy to forget. Sometimes regular people can be just as extraordinary as Abnormals. Even more extraordinary, given they aren't born with any abilities to give them the upper hand." She took a sip of her champagne and motioned for James to follow her. "Come on. I want to be sure we have good seats."

#

The little Jewish barber stood on a stage in front of a gathered army, and he spoke simply and eloquently. "In this world, there is room for everyone. And the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone." James rested his hand on Helen's arm and she nodded; it felt as if Chaplin was speaking directly to her, honoring the Sanctuary and her cause to help all Abnormal life wherever it might be found. She believed in time that Hitler would be struck down because that was the way of all evil. Good always triumphed, even if it took some time and the strength of those willing to fight.

Helen certainly had the time. And she believed that if a meek barber could find the courage to stand up to Hynkel, then she could stand against those who sought to harm Abnormals. As she watched the movie end and the credits roll, she knew that she would find a way to fight in the forthcoming war by any means possible.

One day, she meant to find Charlie Chaplin again and thank him for what he had inspired in her. For the moment, however, she did the only thing in her power. She stood up and applauded.


End file.
